Midnight Newsletter

oh no

It’s not midnight where I am, but it is 8 o’clock. The hour dusk begins to settle in, when creatures and cars and bed sheets begin to shift and conglomerate into new places. I am not Clancy and this newsletter is not my gospel, although it could be. I am Jo and this is my newsletter. Welcome. I’m a little late today.

Today I felt my heart get bigger, which is quite a large way to start a newsletter, but my alternative option was to tell you that my day was horrible. I’ve been trying to shift and conglomerate my brain into better places. Which is very hard to do, trust me, and I know you’ve tried too, but I believe we can do this. And besides, it’s true, my heart did get bigger.

Something I’ve realized over the course of the Pandemic is that we learned not to say “I’m good" when people ask us how we are doing. Which is great! But, if you’re like me, all I’ve done is changed I’m good to I’m okay. And *brace yourself* I’m not sure what to say at all anymore because I’m not good and I’ve discovered that I’m not okay either, because I’m actually good sometimes, but good isn’t the same as it was before. Oh no!

I do not have an answer for this conundrum. If you are looking for those, please ask Clancy or Nancy or Cheryl Strayed.

Anyway! Oh no. My heart got bigger today.

What did it? It was something about how things felt sticky and it was hard to walk through. I didn’t like it that much; I didn’t like today. But then there were things that, in contrast to all the heaviness, felt absolutely fantastic. Such as: seeing myself happy in photos that were recently captured. Sometimes being in the present means forgetting. Sometimes you don’t know if you are present unless you don’t know. (oh no.) To be unsure of a place at the present moment, but then witness magical feelings that are tangibly captured forever, makes me feel steady. Like I can keep walking—to forget, to get out of my head, to love myself. Like last night when it reached 10:30pm, without it trying to, without me realizing. Happiness just snuck up on itself. Another thing: driving home under a thick blanket of rainbow at the end of the road. And listening to a song that lyrically jabs me in spots.

Those were the ways my heart grew today. And while it grew, I thought of people at home who may have completed their shifting into dark places today. Now they might be under sheets, in arms, holding books or tea. At home it is nearing midnight. And at home I miss the dazzling lake, the sound of the train passing my dad’s now empty apartment, my brother’s lanky limbs crashing cymbals. Am I good or am I okay? Neither. I am a teensy bit homesick—amongst all the other things that I am.

Love so very much,

Jo

Also P.S. it’s very dazzling here too. Perhaps it is everywhere?!